Rub Me The Right Way
by aRedBaroness
Summary: Castiel the biologist has found the strangest feline hybrid. It appears to be a tawny furred man with cat ears and a tail that he calls Dean. How long will Castiel be able to study such a beast before his baser instincts get the better of him? Destiel. M/M.
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Castiel wondered how it happened, even now observing it with his own blue eyes he could barely believe it. He told people, other people in the scientific community even, showed them his findings and they called him a fraud. Castiel was damned if he even knew why he kept studying the creature. It seemed no amount of evidence was enough to prove its existence and yet he kept at it, like Sisyphus rolling that damned boulder for all of eternity. As far as boulders went though, his was certainly pretty. Cough. Pretty puzzling, that's what Cas meant, he's sure of it.

It might have been easier to prove the beast's existence if Castiel was willing show it to someone directly, for surely they would believe what they could see with their own eyes, potentially touch with their own hands. Castiel didn't want to though. He didn't think he could trust them. What if they took it away from him, worse than that what if they touched it, coveted what was his alone. No wait, not that last bit, Castiel had no idea where that came from. What he meant was he didn't want the creature exhibited like some sort of freak show, poked at like an animal in a zoo.

How had it happened? Castiel's own brother, Gabriel had found the beast on a hunting trip once and told his nerdy biologist brother, Castiel. Like so many after him, Castiel had refused to believe such a thing existed. Gabe, said "Fine, Cassie, come see for yourself. I think I found its den last time." Castiel had gone and when he had seen it, he'd gone back better prepared, with a tranquilizer gun. He'd knocked it out, dragged it into the back of his truck and set it up in the habitat he'd prepared in his lab after firing his assistants. Like he said, Castiel just didn't trust other people around the creature, barely trusted himself.

I mean the thing was beyond beautiful, beautifully striking that is. The first time Castiel beheld its form in the gloom of that cave, he'd been breathless, spellbound, completely enthralled. Oh how Gabriel had teased him, on the way back. "What's the matter, Cas? Catboy got your tongue? Although you look like you'd enjoy that. Hot for kitty, Cassie?" Castiel hadn't dignified any of that with a response. It was ridiculous. It was hardly a catboy after all, more of a catman. A tawny, well-muscled catman with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. It had ears and a tail swishing above its very nude and pert looking ass. Pert is a technical term, there was really no other way to describe those luscious cheeks. It was big too, tall and absolutely ripped, Castiel had a hell of a time dragging it back to the lab. But oh boy was it worth it.

Castiel called it Dean. It had taken a week or two for the beast to recognize its name. Now when it feels like it, it comes when Cas calls it. It's not a dog after all, it doesn't come every time Castiel calls it, just when it wants to. And then when Dean's feeling particularly affectionate, he will rub his face against Castiel's hand and purr. That sound is pure unadulterated aural sex. Castiel tries to pretend he doesn't, that's he's a cold empirical scientist, but the minute Dean starts purring, it goes straight to Castiel's dick and he'll be hard and panting. Sometimes Cas thinks Dean knows, knows what that sound does to him and makes that sound on purpose, just to mess with him. But in the six months Castiel's studied Dean, tried to teach Dean, Dean's never proven understanding of human behaviours or human speech beyond his own name and the word "food."

Half the time Castiel's supposed to be paying attention to Dean, studying Dean, he's lost wondering how Dean got this way. Was he born this way and if so how? Did some lady lie down with a lion in the biblical sense? Did some Dr. Frank N. Furter type decide to make a catman with tawny fur and a tan to relieve his tension? Is Dean an experiment gone wrong or some kind of warped evolution? These thoughts sometimes keep Castiel up at night wondering what it would take for a blonde catman to relieve some of his tension.

Ever since he started working with Dean, Castiel's been wound tighter than a guitar string. All the pressure's building and there's no release. He hasn't done anything, hasn't made a move, but oh he's thought about it. Sometimes he can think of nothing else, just that soft silky fur and the languidly sensual way Dean stretches. Castiel can't do anything about it though, that would be sick and very unethical, he's supposed to be a scientist after all. He's not some demented primatologist feeling up the monkeys. He's got morals, a sense of decency and some shame. It's so wrong to be contemplating kissing those perfectly shaped lips when Castiel's lifting them out of the way so he can measure Dean's teeth. Which of course leads to thoughts of those sharp fangs scraping against his throat...

At times like those, when his thoughts are generating their own steam heat, Castiel takes a couple deep calming breaths and steps outside for a breather. He likes to head out back and mentally recite the Hippocratic oath while he smokes which is so hypocritical and counter-intuitive that it almost always works. Almost always. Whenever his deranged coping strategy fails him, Castiel just goes home and takes a cold shower. The feelings he has for his charge though never vanish completely, he just buries them as best as he can.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dean's not sure how many moons have passed since he first came here. He can't see the moon in this strange and orderly forest. Time seems to have no seasons here either, it is always pleasantly warm and dry. Even the trees here seem different tamer some how.

In the wild forest of his origin, Dean could range for miles, the landscape was lush and variable. Here he is fenced in and the topography and topiary never changes. There are no other animals here either, just Dean and the odd tom cat that visits him daily.

Dean doesn't know how he'd cope here if it weren't for the odd tom cat that gave him his name. The tom is the most curious thing Dean has ever seen. He is bald, but not in the mangy sense, though he does only appear to have odd patches of thin fur, it's hard to tell under the odd artificial hides he uses to cover his form. Like a manx, the tom cat lacks a tail and unlike a manx, his ears are flat and strange and his claws are laughably short. It's difficult to tell, but Dean thinks the tom might smell delectable under the harsh and fragrant chemicals he uses to mask his natural scent. It's that faint musky odour and those incredibly, intensely blue eyes that make the tom attractive despite his bizarre deformities.

On the other hand, Dean's not sure that the tom is in fact deformed, in all his memories he cannot recall seeing another of his kind, that alone makes the tom fascinating. He did see another tom shortly before he woke up in this odd forest, but it was only briefly and his memories close to the time of his capture are rather hazy.

Another thing that Dean finds puzzling is this tom's penchant for yowling almost constantly. Compared to any other type of animal call though Dean has never heard one so versatile and intricate as the yowls of this tom. It makes sounds in a gruff gravelly tone that Dean can feel in the warmth of his belly and when he is tired of exploring his territory he likes to curl up at the tom's feet and listen.

Sometimes Dean feels like the howling must have some profound meaning that he cannot fathom, like the tom is trying to communicate something terribly important. The most Dean can seem to offer in return are sounds for simple feeling, purring for comfort and arousal and a howl or a hiss for discomfort. It makes him feel stupid, but he likes to console himself with the idea that the tom must be nuts if its thoughts are so complex that they can't be understood by normal feline methods.

For instance, ever since Dean's come to comprehend that despite their differences in appearance that he and the tom are the same species, he's been doing the mating dance, figuratively speaking of course. Dean doesn't have much to go on, just what he's seen the lynx do when in heat, but he does know it is not a dance like the bees do. The various steps and rituals play out over a much longer period of time for one thing and the ending is less clear.

Nevertheless Dean has done his best to keep well-groomed and move gracefully. He "presents" often in the hopes the tom will catch his meaning, but the sight of Dean's swishing tail and tight rear seem to cause the tom's hide to redden in an oddly endearing fashion, cough and turn from him. Dean wonders if he's doing it wrong or if perhaps the tom finds his appearance as bizarre and deformed as Dean perceives him to be? He knows that ideally he should be able to offer the tom a fresh kill to make up for his freakish figure, but there are no other creatures here. His prey comes already dead and Dean can barely summon up enough interest to eat it himself; it certainly would not impress a potential mate. The only part of the mating ritual Dean can count as a small success is that the tom is rarely able to leave this forest without smelling of Dean. Dean makes sure that whenever the tom is in reach he marks him without fail. If there are other felines beyond this forest they will know that the tom is claimed at least enough to show favour or preference if not scent-marked enough to indicate a mated pair.

If Dean is to be trapped in this forest much longer, he would at least like to be able to have a mate to show for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was nervous. It was a bath day. He tended to give Dean a certain amount of leeway with personal hygiene, seeing as he was part beast after all. It also had to do with the intimacy of the act, bathing Dean was very uncomfortable for Cas too. The golden muscles that were always on display were that much closer and wet and he was supposed to touch them too. It was both too much and simultaneously not enough.

When Castiel had first brought Dean into his lab he had waited almost two weeks to clean him. Cas hadn't known how kindly Dean would take to the application of water, would he hiss and claw like a house cat or enjoy it wholeheartedly like a tiger? Cas had wanted to build some trust between them first and get Dean accustomed to his presence.

When he first arrived, Dean's hair had been in long matted tangles, its rich tawny colour camouflaged by dirt and years of neglect. However, while the rest of Dean had definitely had a deep and strong albeit not entirely unpleasant musky smell to it, his body had been relatively clean, obviously those eye-catching tongue baths of his, that left Cas short of breath and needing to excused, must have been doing him some good.

That first time Castiel had been sure to make noise as he approached Dean to wake him, not wanting to startle the catboy before they'd even started. Dean had merely opened his startlingly green eyes and watched Cas curiously. Castiel had nervously fingered the needle full of sedative in his lab coat (it was for emergencies) as he reached out and led Dean to the artificial stream that ran through his newly forested lab.

To put Dean at ease, Castiel had shucked his lab coat on the stream's bank and joined Dean in the water in his swim suit. Happily for Cas, Dean, like his larger wildcat counterparts, quite enjoyed the water. It had still been agony for Cas, who had to get in close and lather Dean up and run his hands over that soft downy fur. Dean had been wary of the soap at first but he seemed to enjoy the tactile attention if his rumbling purr and nuzzling affection were any indication.

The initial haircut had been much trickier. In cleaning the filthy locks, Castiel had quickly come to the conclusion that there was no salvaging Dean's hair, it would all have to go. This would require an electric razor and that was liable to freak out his catboy considerably. Cas had been right, Dean was afraid of the razor, he had hissed at it, baring his fangs. In the end, Castiel had put the cagey catboy at ease by demonstrating on a patch of his own leg hair. Once Dean had seen that it had done him no harm, he'd allowed Castiel to approach him with the device in hand, but had a grim look on his handsome face that told Cas in no uncertain terms what harm would befall him if he shaved Dean entirely. When the deed was done and Castiel had admired his own handiwork it was both with pride and despair, for with a buzz cut and smelling like mint soap he'd used Dean was only more appealing.

Now today Castiel was going to have to do it all over again, run his soapy hands over those lean, smooth flanks and try to pretend he wasn't dying to jump Dean and ravage him. To be fair, of the two of them Dean was probably more likely to do the ravaging. Cas would love to let Dean ravage him any time, but it was thus far not meant to be. Castiel had a duty as a respected biologist to not get sexually involved with his charge no matter how handsome or mischievous. He wouldn't want to take unfair advantage of a being not entirely human.

Castiel sighed as he finally gave up and roused himself from bed. He hesitated when he reached for his swim trunks though, if he considered it rationally, Dean should really be able to wash himself at this stage, it was pretty self explanatory and he'd certainly had enough hands on demonstrations. Despite this and despite the fact that he always dreaded bathing day, Castiel did need this outlet for his mounting sexual frustration.

In an effort to assuage his guilt, Castiel did promise himself that he would make an effort to begin Dean's civic rehabilitation. It was no use studying Dean indefinitely, now that his existence had been made known in the scientific community (even if no one believed it) and he had been captured, Dean should learn how to behave more conventionally and fit in with human society, for he was unlikely to be released back into the wild. Even if Castiel did let the catboy go, it would have been no guarantee that others would not search for him and his kind, if he had any. No next week Castiel would have to attempt to tame the beast, despite his own reluctance.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel was nervous as he approached his lab, though this was nothing new. The flashcards in his hands were new though, and he kept fiddling with them, changing the order. He felt ridiculous, he felt like he could start a lapidary in his stomach there were so many butterflies in there jostling against his ribcage. It's just a day like any other, he kept telling himself. Cas wondered if after the twentieth time he might in fact believe it. Thus far, that had not been the case.

Today Castiel would attempt to teach Dean language. He felt overwhelmed, he had no idea how to begin really. Language was such a huge and expansive concept it seemed impossible, futile even. The English language may have been vast but it was really impossible to explain, Dean may as well have been a mute and deaf outsider.  
Cas took a deep and shuddering breath in an attempt to soothe his rising hysteria as he entered the lab. He comforted himself in the revelation that even if he failed it wouldn't matter, no one cared about his research anyway and certainly no self-respecting scientist would believe in catboys. Of course they'd never been confronted with the reality of a tawny muscled catboy flank rubbing against the thighs of his slacks, which was how Dean chose to greet him this morning. Dean was not always so affectionate or demonstrative. It was a relief however that he wouldn't have to try and coax Dean from some tight hiding space.

Castiel stroked his fingers through Dean's shortly shorn locks absentmindedly. He pushed the catboy away after a moment, putting his hands on those strong shoulders silently imploring Dean to sit. Dean did sit, but regarded Cas quizzically with his head tilted to the side in the universal sign of confusion.

Castiel decided to start with the basics. "Castiel," he intoned flatly pointing to his chest. Dean still looked puzzled. He walked closer and prodded Dean's own chest, repeating Dean's name as he did so. Dean's brow furrowed. Castiel repeated the actions. In fact, Castiel repeated those same actions and their names for about forty minutes before comprehension seemed to dawn in those deep green eyes.

Finally, when Castiel had all but given up, having left Dean to his own devices after his resolute failure this morning, Dean bounded up to him and smiled. His voice was rough with obvious disuse, but Dean managed to chirp an approximation of "Cas," clearly stumbling over the scientist's full name. He looked inordinately pleased with himself and Cas sighed internally. Today was clearly going to be one of those days where he wished he could just cover the process with a quick montage like in the movies. Nonetheless, he did want to reinforce Dean's efforts and encourage cooperation in these lessons so he gave Dean a piece of jerky and scratched the tight stomach of the catboy when it was presented to him, before heading off to lunch.

Castiel spent most of the meal deep in scholarly thoughts about imparting language. As he was leaving he laughed as it occurred to him that he had been foolishly worried this morning. To hell with his damn flashcards, Dean would clearly not be ready for such measures anytime soon. In fact, he decided that while he might devote a further hour near the end of the day for language lessons, Castiel would let Dean range free that afternoon and do as he pleased. Obviously the process would be a slow one and Cas needed more time to consider the best approach to continue with.


	5. Chapter 5

Gabriel has invited him to lunch. He sounded a bit worried over the phone, though he tried to mask it with his usual cheerful nature. Castiel feels weird, disrupting Dean's routine like this, but obviously something was going on. It was odd, Castiel didn't usually pick up on cues like these, Gabriel liked to affectionately describe him to friends as gloriously obtuse, like it was something to be proud of, wonderfully naive was his second favourite go to epithet.

A bit begrudgingly and with a certain amount of trepidation Castiel trudged down to the little cafe off Main that Gabriel was wont to frequent. The sidewalk was depressingly grey on this winter afternoon, the grey of the sky only making the monotony increase tenfold. Castiel huddled further into his tan trench to fight the bitter sting of the wind. He hoped he could get to the cafe ahead of Gabriel, maybe order him something sickeningly sweet to cheer him up. His chilled fingers ached at the thought of wrapping them around a hot cup of something.

Gabriel was ready and waiting in the usual booth by the back window, his upper lip still smeared with sugary foam. When Cas strode in and he caught sight of his brother, he seemed brighter than he had sounded on the phone earlier. "Heya Cassie," he chirped clasping Cas by the shoulders in an awkward hug (awkward because Castiel was never prepared for this and kind of stood there stiff and board-like). "You're freezing," he paused to laugh, "You really should get a proper winter jacket like mine." He gestured to the purple plaid puff monstrosity he currently sported in spite of the warm cafe fireplace.

Castiel just shook his head in response, causing Gabe to laugh some more. "Come on Cassie, it's not that bad. It may be an eye-catching and a little out of your league, but it's warmer than that atrocious trench coat."

Castiel clutched his atrocious trench coat defensively. "Whatever your coat's caught (and it's not the eyes) me and my coat are staying on this side of the table well away from it lest it prove contagious."

Gabriel was still chuckling, "You can't catch style, brother, but if you could it might do you some good. Spice up your life a bit."

Cas sighed. "What did you want to talk to me about anyway? I've got important work to do. I haven't got time for this." It wasn't entirely a lie, thought Castiel, not entirely, he did have work he could be doing, but it was hardly important given that there was little likelihood of anyone seeing it anytime soon.

Gabriel had called the waitress over and ordered for Cas already. The annoyance didn't seem to have registered. Castiel wondered what weird beverage the future portended. He really should have ordered on his way in. Last time Gabriel had ordered him a raspberry-mint-pumpkin spice americano and Castiel had to drink every disgusting drop to spare Gabe's feelings.

His older brother let him stew in silence while they waited for the drink to arrive. Surprisingly Gabe had got him a simple medium roast drip coffee, black with half a teaspoon of sugar, just like he would have ordered for himself. Clearly something was up.

"Listen bro, there's no easy way to bring this up, but I'm kind of worried about you." Castiel opened his mouth to protest that he was fine and Gabe needn't worry; but his brother just held up his hand for silence before continuing. "You've been spending too much time at the lab. You won't even tell me what you're working on. You used to give me way more biological work details than I ever cared to know. It's been two years since you tried it with Meg, Cassie. It's time for a fresh start. Get out there sniff some butts."

Castiel made a moue. Gabriel giggled a bit at Cas' disgusted expression, clearly delighted with his own terrible turn of phrase. Meg, now that had been a terrible turn. An utter fiasco from start to finish, Cas could barely remember what he saw in her. He'd always been so good, he admired her bravado in the beginning. The vulgar way she prepositioned him had struck that horrible urge for rebellion in him and he'd acquiesced. But in the end their relationship, if you could call it that had burned fast and bright. Left him badly burned too. She'd left him suddenly for her best friend, Ruby. It had been unexpected to say the least.

Truth be told, before he'd got Dean, Castiel had been neglecting his love life out of absentmindedness more than anything else. It just hadn't occurred to him to get out there and do the mating dance. And now that he had Dean, he hadn't the inclination. Cas couldn't tell his brother, he wasn't ready yet. Maybe once Dean learned to talk, he would clue him that the cat creature was now his current subject of study. He'd leave out the lust side of things. Perhaps if he agreed to go out to the loud clubs with Gabriel a couple times, he could get him to drop the matter.

"I suppose it has been a while. You may drag me off to the ridiculously named bar of your choosing," Cas said resignedly.

"That's excellent. We start tonight. Shine up those old dusty dancing shoes, brother, you'll need them. If you dare to show up in a suit, I will dress you in my shiniest, loudest, most earth-shatteringly eighties shirt – the one that you claim gives you seizures," Gabe threatened.

Before Castiel could come up with a retort, Gabe had shimmied on out the cafe door leaving Cas with the bill and a stricken expression. What had he gotten himself into?


End file.
